(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown on Advent Sunday, November 27, 2016 at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Isaiah 2: 1-5; Romans 13: 11-14; Matthew 24: 36-44.)
St. Paul, at the end of 1 Corinthians 13, exclaims “Now abide these three: faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love.” Of these three marks of the Christian life, two get a lot of attention: faith and love. We may struggle with our faith in a time of doubt in a secular age, trying to reconcile faith with belief and the historical Christian creeds. Divine love, of course, holds everything together and we know that our whole lives are to be rooted and grounded in it. But often hope is not so much a focus of our Christian lives – until perhaps an emergency comes and we switch into “hope gear”, praying, perhaps for a miracle. There is nothing wrong with “hope gear” but it is one we should use a lot more often.
That the Christian year, Advent Sunday, today, begins with the theme of hope reminds us how important it is as a part of our Christian lives. Israel waits expectantly in hope for a Messiah who will bring in the reign of God, gathering all nations onto a “peaceable mountain of the Lord” as we hear in our first lesson from Isaiah today. And so, in Advent season, we join in that expectant waiting and hopefulness, as we prepare for the celebration of the Messiah’s birth at Christmas.
But hope is not something that belongs just in Advent. The hopefulness of Advent pervades the whole Christian year. Lent and Good Friday are full of the hope of Resurrection. Resurrection and Ascension lift us to hopeful lives. And even in ordinary time, we read of Jesus’ offering hope to prisoners, the poor, the politically oppressed, the sick, the demented and the outcasts, including those outside the religious respectability and acceptance of his day – the Samaritans and the Gentiles. While the disciples were a bit slow to understand, Jesus was building a community of hope.
But what do we do when a situation feels hopeless? Perhaps a personal situation has soured and it feels like there is no satisfactory resolution. Or finances are so bad it feels like there is no hope anymore. Or there is less and less hope in our health or that of a loved one. Or we are in a work situation in which we feel trapped without hope. Or we survey the global political and economic situation where there is so much injustice, violence, corruption and lack of respect for fellow human beings and we feel hopeless.
We may feel anger, despair, cynicism, depression, hopelessness – often with very good reason. And to make things worse, the values of what constitutes something to hope for are often in conflict -- one person or group hopes for peace and reconciliation, another hopes for conflict and victory. This conflict in what to hope for can be seen in the political debate about the environment, resource extraction and pipelines (or in the US debate about guns). Hopes can conflict with one another and do.
So perhaps, as Christians, a question is “What do we hope for?” “What is the end of our hope?” Again, we come back to the passages in Isaiah and the minor prophets: the image of the Messianic commonwealth in which all peoples and nations are gathered together peacefully, where all are satisfied, especially those who have suffered and been oppressed. The image is of a God who cares for ALL creation, whatever their race, creed, history, gender or other characteristics. And insofar as we as a church are called by Jesus to try to model that reign, we hope and work for peace, justice, truth and love; not for war, oppression, untruth and hatred.
Therefore, we are called not to give up hope, no matter how bad the situation, whether personal or community or political. We saw the anchor in our children’s talk today. The early Christian symbol of an anchor for hope suggests that no matter how bad the storm, we are still anchored in the love and hope of God in Jesus Christ.
But that personal anchoring or commitment is not the end of it. Rooted and grounded in the divine hope, we are called to offer hope to others, whether in the commonest and most simple ways – a few friendly words of encouragement – or in public work and witness in support of the values of the reign of God. Our epistle today urges us to “put on the armour of light . . . the Lord Jesus” (that is, the values of the reign of God) and not to make provision for sin and selfishness. While we did not read it, the passage begins, “Owe no one anything but to love one another”. When we love another, we offer each other hope; and when we offer each other hope, we love one another. And so, love and hope are in our relationships with all people, whatever their creed, dress, ethnic identify or other identity. All whom we meet are God’s children and share in the divine hope.
But what about the apocalyptic, the subtheme of Advent as a time of preparation for the Last Day, the world-shattering coming of Christ? Of course, we all face a Last Day, the day of our deaths, and if we live with faith, hope and love, we should be prepared for it and not be anxious.
Just as there is much in the world that might make us feel hopeless, there are also teachings floating around about the Last Day that only bring fear, despair and hopelessness. Some groups claim that that Last Day is near and quite wrongly believe that Christians have a role in bringing it on, for example, by encouraging war in the Middle East or between Christianity and Islam. Some groups continue to predict down to the exact day and hour the date of the coming of Christ on the Last Day. And as world events become more and more tempestuous, this apocalyptic talk will be more and more common.
Today’s Gospel is unequivocal in condemning such an approach. Jesus declares, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” For anyone to think that he or she knows that day or believe that we can and should bring on that day through promotion of war in the Middle East is self-idolatry of the first order. Of course, we are to be prepared because we do not know the hour. But if we live with hopefulness, living the values of the reign of God, we can face that Last Day, the hour of our deaths, with confidence.
Finally, back to our small community: we are called to be a community of hope, offering as much hope as we can to one another, especially in situations of difficulty and despair. We are called to be aware of the different kinds of hopelessness people feel in the community and offer what support we can. And, of course, we are to offer whatever hope we can to ALL who come through our doors and in whatever situation we find ourselves in our world.
We come back to the image of the anchor as a sign of hope. Perhaps we are called to be anchors of hope in world in which many are at loose ends, floating different directions, perhaps in danger of drowning. Our ancestors built this church building to last because they believed it would be an anchor for the future. Let us take on that vocation of being anchors of hope in a difficult and troubled world.
But even that is not the end of it all. There is also the time to shout “Anchors aweigh!” and move forward to new ministries and ways of showing love and justice to the world. Hope goes with us in that enterprise, as the anchor goes with the ship. We do not throw the anchor into the sea; we hoist it up and travel with it. Thus, we travel with confidence, knowing we have the anchor of Christ.
Let us pray. “Almighty God, grant us grace to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armour of light” – indeed, to become anchors of hope in our troubled and broken world. Amen.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown for the Feast of Christ the King, November 20, 2016, at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Colossians 1: 11-20 and Luke 23: 33-43.)
Looking at today’s two lessons, St. Paul’s hymn to the cosmic Christ, “the image of the invisible God”, in whom all creation is rooted and sanctified, and St. Luke’s account of the Christ (the Messiah) the “King of the Jews” shamefully crucified by the religious and political leaders of his day, I was reminded of the common expression “from the sublime to the ridiculous”.
Chasing down that expression, I find the earliest references were in 18th century French political thought where the full saying was “it is but a step between the sublime and the ridiculous”. English and American writers soon picked up the expression and Thomas Paine in The Age of Reason made it famous. By sublime we mean something wonderful beyond telling (like the description of Christ in the first lesson) – but it seems that the human sublime often cannot be sustained and the ridiculous can take over very quickly. But the expression can go both ways and critics have suggested, for example, Shakespeare had the creativity to make the ridiculous situations of life sublime in his plays.
But mostly we use the expression when something that is wonderful and exciting suddenly turns to dust, to being utterly ridiculous. We might use the expression to describe the recent US presidential election with its less than sublime results. Sometimes we use the expression about friendships or relationships or organizations or programs or even persons that go from good sense, beauty, deep meaning (that is, the sublime) to sheer ridiculousness very quickly. The expression is a kind of warning not to put too much trust in the human sublime. It can unravel very quickly because of sin.
When we apply the expression to today’s two lessons and try to reflect deeply about their contrast, perhaps we might say that Christian Revelation is the Messiah’s journey to the ridiculousness (or foolishness, to use Paul’s term) of the Cross, but which quickly, through the Resurrection, Ascension and Glorification moves to the sublime, with the crucified and ascended Messiah as divine and eternal Ruler of all creation.
We sometimes seek a Christianity (or even a church) that is 100 percent sublime, lifted by a rich sacramental life, or beautiful or lively music, or deep reflection or flawless and deep human relationships: in short, a Christianity without the Cross and isolated from the world. But the Gospel story of Jesus (the Christ, which means Messiah, the Anointed One) is that of a prophet (God’s Incarnate Son) surrounded by cruelty, hypocrisy, corrupt politics, unjust religion, political oppression – in short, human sin. The same mess we are surrounded by today! Yet Jesus persevered and taught and lived the incoming reign of love and justice. He was the Suffering Servant, not the militant Zealot. When unjustly sentenced to death, he did not flee but embraced the shame of the Cross.
In that undignified embrace of the Cross, our humanity, with all its brokenness and sin, is transformed and conveyed into the realm of light, into the realm, indeed, of the sublime. In the words of our first lesson, “[The Father] has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins”.
So, the Messiah’s journey may be described as that from the Holy Ridiculousness of the Cross (including all that led up to it) to reigning over creation with complete and total Sublime Love.
Might that description guide our journey as followers of the Way of Jesus the Messiah? Surrounded by sin (including by people who call themselves Christians), challenging unjust social and political structures and oppressive relationships, living Christ-like lives of kindness, patience and understanding, supporting one another with concern and compassion, not discouraged by sin – living in such a way even to the point of sacrifice and death – such that God brings about the sublime in our lives, both in this life and the next.
That sublime life of the ever-reigning Christ is present in all parts of our lives: for example, in the loving quality of relationships, in hard work accomplishing results (or even not accomplishing results), in art and music, in a life of generosity and faithfulness, in a marriage or friendship, in parenthood, in supporting and bringing into being political structures and realities that reflect divine love and justice, and many more ways. God’s grace lifts us up and offers us the sublime, even in the worst situations. That is, I believe, what Christ the King, whom we celebrate today, is really about.
But even then, our God is a God of surprises. Sometimes the ridiculous, when gentle and well meaning, can also be sublime. Humour can be sublime. We heard some Lewis Carrol at our pub night. “Jabberwocky” is a good attempt of lifting the ridiculous to the sublime. Good jokes are usually premised on ridiculous stories having a sublimely funny quality. That is where Shakespeare and other great authors come in, making sublime stories from ridiculous situations. I am sure John can tell us stories of where the ridiculous is taken into the sublime in music. And I think of a place like Niagara Falls, where the sublime and the ridiculous exist side by side but their combination can have a certain charm, even a bit of the sublime.
Yet other ridiculous situations are horribly disturbing – racism, ignorance, hatred, violence, lying. Sadly, apparently this week’s Oxford Dictionary’s newest word is “post-truth”. Truly ridiculous and deeply disturbing. What is happening politically around the world, with movement from open borders to high walls, from common humanity to privileged identities, from love to hatred, is ultimately a kind of very dangerous ridiculousness, in which, for example, the country of one’s birth condemns or privileges a person, with no possibility of change. So far from the Kingdom of God!
Even in a world of war, violence, ignorance, racism, sexism, homophobia and high walls, Christ continues to reign. Human beings are created with free will and many times we have made a big mess of it. But we are called by God to walk the road of the Cross, working for love, peace and justice in all settings, turning over the tables of the money changers occasionally if necessary, speaking strongly if necessary, working for change; and allowing the sublime, through the grace of God, not to be suppressed but to continue to grow and flourish.
In the opening words of today’s first lesson: “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.”
It is a big challenge but it is worth it. We take on the holy ridiculousness of the Cross that we might share in Christ’s sublime glory, in this both life and the next. Thanks be to God!
(A Homily preached by Bishop Terry Brown on Remembrance Day Sunday, November 13, 2016, Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Isaiah 65: 17-25; Isaiah 12: 2-6; 1 Thessalonians 3: 6-13; Luke 21: 5-19.)
This morning we began our service with a solemn commemoration of those of this parish (and beyond) who lost their lives in wars in defence of this country. While “just” wars may be heroic and result in the victory of right over wrong, they are also at their core tragic, with countless lives lost, with futures marked by loss or brokenness, hardly something to be encouraged or celebrated. Wars are a sign of human failure in which innocent human beings get caught up and either rise to heroism or are marked by death or, often, both. The Christian ideal is peace and harmony among all God’s creatures, including all races and nations. Thus, early Christians refused to participate in the Roman army. As Christians, we cannot celebrate war but only regret that sometimes it seems a necessity and behave as Christians in that context.
I find it hard to preach about war and peace without reflecting on my own experience of it. I was born when my father was overseas in North Africa and Europe in World War 2 and did not see him until I was 18 months old, though I grew up looking at his photo albums of his wartime years, which ended in the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp which, as I ask him to remember, clearly marked him.
Much later, having left graduate school, I was conscripted (“drafted”) into the US Army in 1968 during the Vietnam War. I considered other options (including running away to Canada as some of my friends did) but decided the best I could do was to train as a medic, not wishing to kill anyone. So, after eight weeks of basic training (in which, by the way, I failed the grenade throw and had to be sent to remedial basic training) and ten weeks’ medical training, I spent 18 months working in a septic wounds ward in a US Army hospital outside Tokyo. (Luckily I was not posted to Vietnam or you would not see me here this morning.) Day after day, night after night, I dressed the wounds of those severely injured in Vietnam before they flew back to the mainland. Quite a few of my patients died and at least one fellow medic died from an infection contracted from a patient. It was a very difficult time in my life – I would rather have been elsewhere – but in the long run it gave me relationships and experiences that I would not have had otherwise.
I came home rather numb and dazed, joined in anti-Vietnam War protests down Woodward Avenue in Detroit and tried to put my life back together, still feeling a call to ministry and theology. It was not until I came to Canada a couple years later that I began to feel safe and human again, that I was in a less warlike environment. Even though I did not participate in combat, I was marked by its results and when, many years later, I visited the Vietnam War memorial in Washington, I was overcome with emotion, and tears rolled down my face.
Now, almost 50 years later, I realize I still am marked and Friday when I came into the church to do some work and saw the small floral bouquet with the helmet I had a mild flashback and some emotions I had not had in awhile. (Yesterday, when I came in, I suppressed an urge to kick it.) If I, who did not directly experience combat, still have such emotions, I can relate with those who have experienced combat and the ways it has impacted their lives, from loss of communication skills to post-trauma stress, to long-term disability, to the greatest sacrifice, death; and how all that has affected their loved ones. Such sacrifice is heroic and those who have died are remembered on memorials in churches and in town and city centres across the country. I only hope we provide the human and material support and care for veterans that they often so badly need, rather than putting them on a pedestal once a year and forgetting them the rest of the time. So, if I am not very good at remembering to wear a poppy it is only because sometimes I feel a bit like that poppy, attempting to bring some beauty out of death and destruction.
In and out of all those experiences, from graduate school when I was confirmed, indeed until today, I have participated in a weekly Eucharist; indeed, I was sustained and kept in one piece through even the worst experiences by inclusion in the re-presentation of Christ’s death and resurrection in this sacrament and the grace given through it. And it is very appropriate, given the history of this parish as the regimental church of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry, that our altar is framed by two battlefield Holy Communion sets, that of Canon Wallace in World War 1 and that of Lt. Col. Foote in World War 2 (one an Anglican, one a Presbyterian). It is moving to reflect on how many hands and lips of soldiers have touched those communion sets and been helped and sustained by the Sacrament in difficult and deadly situations. Again, there is the theme: rich life amidst and emerging from death.
Most of us have some experience of the military or war in our lives, whether through our own participation in it or that of family members and ancestors or perhaps even as victims of militarization. And it is not bad to reflect on how we have been shaped by it, for good or ill. But whatever the case, as Christians, we all called to try to bring forth love and peace out of the contradictions of war and conflict: resurrection out of death.
My apologies for that long personal digression but it gives us some context. Now to today’s lessons. How might they speak to these issues of war and peace, of heroism and tragedy, of death and resurrection?
The Gospel today makes it very clear that Jesus too lived in a time of war in which the very centre of Jewish worship, the Second Temple, was brought to the ground in ethnic and religious conflict with the Roman Empire. In times of war and conflict, indeed, in times of social unrest and rapid change, many voices are heard. In our North American context, some claim to be Christian but are voices of hatred and destruction. Jesus declares, “beware that you are not led astray” by false prophets, those claiming to proclaim God’s word but are inwardly ravenous wolves and purveyors of hatred.
These false prophets fill the social media and the cable news networks and we have seen the result of them in a deeply flawed United States presidential election. And those voices will continue, louder and louder. Jesus’ advice is not to be overwhelmed with fear but continue to testify to what is true and good, despite persecution, betrayal and even the breakdown of relationships. We pride ourselves that those we remember today fought for a Canada that is humane and tolerant. If we are not careful, ours too could be a society of hatred.
Today’s epistle, from 1 Thessalonians, commends hard work over idleness and urges its readers, “do not be weary in doing what is right”. We do not know the exact context of these words but the complaint that some have become “mere busybodies” suggests that some have both money and time on their hands and are using that power to harass others. Again, addiction to the social media and the television come to mind today in which we are stimulated by every piece of false news and every troll and tempted to become trolls and purveyors of false news ourselves. In difficult times like ours, it is wise to listen to the right voices and even turn off the wrong voices (“keep away from believers who are living in idleness”), and to reflect deeply and act with love and integrity. And that action should be towards justice, peace and reconciliation, not towards hatred, war and conflict.
Why? Today’s prophesies from Isaiah, in both the first reading and the psalm, speak of the Messianic community of love and justice that is God’s desire for us, where war has ceased and all God’s creatures live in peace and harmony. That goal is not reached through war or conflict or harsh words but through God’s initiative of the promise of a Messiah who will usher in that rule through the transformation of humanity from fighters into lovers. As Christians, we believe Christ is that Messiah and we are called to live the love and justice that he lived and proclaimed. Part of that commitment is moving away from war to peace.
So, through God’s grace, we try to build Christian communities, churches, including our parish, that are forerunners of that Messianic reign, reflecting its values and relationships. We welcome and love all (or, at least, I think we try to). We share in ministry. We challenge and question one another. We bear one another’s pains, burdens and vulnerabilities. We listen to each other’s stories, even if they sometimes become boring. We work hard. We laugh and cry together. We plan and implement. And we remember with love all who have gone before us, including those we commemorate today. But we move forward to the Messianic reign, not backwards.
Beyond all that, we too need to be prepared to prophesy, particularly when the values of the Messianic reign are challenged, whether by the state or by groups (even religious groups calling themselves Christians) who put hatred before love. We shall see much good Christian challenging in our neighbour to the south in the next four years; and others will loudly proclaim hatred, even in the name of Christianity as has been the case over the past few months. But we are in Canada and our task is to make sure Canada grows more and more into a place of genuine justice and love where all nations, races, creeds and personalities can live together in peace, especially in a good and just relationship with the aboriginal communities whose land this was first. We have work to do; let us not be idle.
“Sing the praises of the Lord, for he has done great things, and this is known to all the world. Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy. For the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel.” Thanks be to God!
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown, Church of Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario, on the 24th Sunday after Pentecost, October 30th, 2016. Text: Luke 19:1-10.)
Zacchaeus, come down from that tree!
I an attempt to see the marvellous teacher and healer, maybe even the Messiah, Zacchaeus has got himself in a difficult place. A short man, he could not see above the crowds, so he has climbed into the upper branches of a tree. For the most part, tree climbing is something children do. I certainly climbed trees as a child. But Zacchaeus was an adult with short legs; it cannot have been easy for him to be up in that tree. (Who here would be still willing to climb a tree?) But Jesus recognizes Zacchaeus’s awkward situation, indeed, he recognizes Zacchaeus’ face and knows his story and calls him by name; he calls him down to a familiar and more comfortable situation: a request to dine at his house. There the hospitable Zacchaeus proves to be less an ogre than the crowds think; he repents of his sins and promises honesty and generosity in the future; and Jesus welcomes him into salvation. Even outcasts despised by the crowds are called to repentance and accepted into God’s Reign in Jesus Christ.
Let us look at this story in three parts.
First, Zacchaeus stuck up in the tree. Partly because of his disadvantage (being short) he has tried so hard and got himself in an awkward situation. In the short term, it is a good place to be; he can see Jesus. But he cannot spend his life in the tree; it is an awkward and vulnerable position. He needs the stability of the ground, even if many around him do not like him. Perhaps some of those he has collected taxes from hope he will fall out of the tree. One can imagine people shouting, “Climb higher, Zacchaeus!” not with a good intention.
Perhaps all of us have sometime got ourselves into an awkward and vulnerable situation, for the sake of love, but a situation that is not very tenable in the long run. We sometimes use the expression. “I’m up a tree”. Perhaps we have befriended someone and it is proving to be impossible. Or we have made a commitment that cannot be sustained. Or perhaps we have simply made too many commitments. Perhaps a relationship has simply failed. Perhaps we have gone out on a limb (another tree reference) and the limb is weak. In these situations, we hope to see Christ, directing us which way to go.
Secondly, Jesus recognizes and calls Zacchaeus. Always, Jesus recognizes and calls each one of us, particularly when we are in awkward, sinful or vulnerable situations, especially trying to see him. When we are in ill health or under great family pressures, when finances are not good, when our spiritual life seems especially dry, when we find ourselves in trouble one way or another, God knows and calls us through Christ.
How do we hear? Through prayer, through the counsel and friendship of others, through reading the Bible, through the example of the saints, through the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the Counsellor, mediated through the church and, indeed, through good people whatever their faith. The call is often away from extreme situations in which we might hurt ourselves to (at least for the moment) a more domestic and secure situation; in the case of Zacchaeus and Jesus, coming down from the tree, eating together, and talking.
Thirdly, there is that encounter with Jesus, the meeting and the sharing. Zacchaeus offers the hospitality of his home to Jesus; probably he has had his servants make them a meal, and they talk and share. Zacchaeus offers his repentance and promises to be just and honest, giving half his income to the poor and offering to make amends to anyone he has cheated four times over, well beyond the demands of the law. Repentance, honesty and generosity is all Jesus asks, and Jesus proclaims that Zacchaeus has already come into God’s salvation.
We too are invited into a daily encounter with Christ and the questions are the same. Are we honest? Do we seek justice? How well do we share, especially with the poor and others having special needs? Our encounter is through prayer, reflection and self-examination. Zacchaeus has already done some of this reflection before he hosted Jesus at his house and offered his repentance. And Jesus praises him for it, as he praises us for our honesty and generosity. With busy-ness and other commitments, sometimes it is difficult to come into that daily encounter with Christ. But day-by-day we are called to it.
Part of that encounter must also have been reconciliation and restitution. Probably even some of Jesus’ closest followers, disciples like James and John, were not so keen about Jesus’ going into the house of one hated as much as Zacchaeus. They had to accept him and realize that Jesus was calling even the socially despised to his salvation.
Some years back in the Solomons, I came across an ecumenical church organization named Sycamore Tree Ministry. Of course, its name was based on this story. The group was engaging in a process of reconciling violent ex-militants (beginning from when they were still in prison) with their victims in the villages. After the prisoners were released, they would return to the place of their crimes, offer restitution, and be reconciled with those they had harmed. They are a programme of Prison Fellowship International that encourages this reconciliation and restitution between ex-criminals and their victims. Zacchaeus’ promise of reparations must also be ours. And a willingness to be reconciled to those who have harmed us.
In our story of Jesus and Zacchaeus, what happens next? Like so many of the Gospel stories, we are left a bit up in the air. Zacchaeus’ promise of honesty and generosity has been recognized by Christ and Zacchaeus incorporated into divine salvation. Zacchaeus has had tremendous encouragement and I think it is likely he became one of the band of Jesus’ followers. Many of his old clients must have come forward and accused him of fraud; true to his word, he would have provided restitution, for times over. Perhaps, like Matthew, he gave up tax collecting and became a disciple. (The story of Matthew is the prototype of the story of Zacchaeus.) Or perhaps he simply continued about his business, now aware of Jesus’ demands for honesty, justice and generosity. But surely he was among those who stood nearby as Jesus was crucified, weeping with sorrow. Perhaps he experienced the resurrected Christ also.
But we may complain, it was easy for Zacchaeus, he was a rich man. However, we are all called by Jesus into conversation and the resolution of our messy lives, whether we are rich or poor. Jesus calls us all into his all-embracing love, not through miracles coming out of the sky but through conversation, acceptance of the help and support of others, and the resolution and actions to change our ways. We are called from the ad hoc of “being up a tree” to the stability of life in Christ, from which we can then take the risks of ministry.
Whatever happened to Zacchaeus, his story stands to remind us that Christ knows us and is ever calling us, all of us, no matter our circumstances, to a better and happier life, to a life that is rooted and grounded in Christ, one that has as its fruits generosity, honesty, love and justice. Thanks be to God.
